


Autoeroticism

by Nyssa



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-29
Updated: 2010-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa/pseuds/Nyssa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch is very, very grateful for his get-well present.  Takes place post-"Survival."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autoeroticism

"Hutch," Starsky murmured, but there was no response other than the soft whisper of lips against his skin.

He tried again. "Baby...baby..." But the word was only a weak breath that floated away into the salty night air. He felt drunk, dizzy with wonder.

"Shh." Hutch's mouth traveled, so slow, so sweet, from his jaw to his cheekbone, where it rested a moment, lips barely touching him. He felt the tiny, tiny brush of eyelashes against his, and shivered.

"I love you," Hutch said. "I love you so damn much, Starsk."

His voice vibrated, Starsky thought. Like guitar strings. He reached up and touched Hutch's throat to feel the hum.

"Buddy," he said, "we gotta stop." He still couldn't speak above a whisper.

"I don't want to stop." Hutch kissed Starsky's eyes, one and then the other, one and then the other, until Starsky whimpered embarrassingly. "I want to stay here. I don't want to move again, ever."

Starsky forced himself to speak coherently. "Angel," he whispered, "we gotta move. The gear stick's pokin' me in the ass."

Hutch's eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "Back seat, then?"

"Yeah," Starsky breathed, and they untangled themselves -- Hutch much more awkwardly -- moved into the old Ford's rear, and flowed easily back together, like the waves crashing on the beach below them.

They kissed, and Starsky ran his hands over Hutch's shoulders, tracing the small indentation in the left one where the strap of his holster normally rode. He pulled back and looked at Hutch. His hair wasn't gold, but silver in the moonlight that crept through the open windows. His eyes were almost black. While Starsky watched, they closed, and Hutch brought Starsky's left hand to his cheek and just held it there, palm against his skin. Starsky stroked Hutch's lower lip with his thumb. He thought about saying I love you, but that seemed so weak it was almost insulting. People said "love" all the time, about all kinds of things. He felt a weird flash of indignation at the thought. What kind of damn stupid language was it where the same word was supposed to apply to chili dogs and model ships and the Lakers and the other half of a man's soul?

Hutch seemed to have no such misgivings. He murmured, "I love you" as he stroked Starsky's back, "I love you" as he ran his fingers through Starsky's hair, "God, I love you" as he buried his face in the hollow between Starsky's neck and shoulder and kissed the leaping pulse he found there. Starsky closed his eyes and held on.

"Hey," he managed to say faintly, after an inexpressibly sweet interlude, "we better -- mmm -- we better go home. Put you to bed."

"I like it here," Hutch said.

"I know, but -- oh, yeah -- you're still not well, y'know. You -- God!"

"You like that?"

"Yeah, but -- you can't -- you shouldn't -- "

"Why'd you want to come down here, then? Just you and me, and the moon, and the ocean..." Hutch was smiling, his teeth a white line in the dark.

Starsky shrugged weakly. "I thought we'd just try her out, y'know. Take her out for a spin, loosen her up a little. I sure as hell didn't think _this_ was gonna happen." He hadn't even dared to hope.

"Hasn't happened yet, buddy," Hutch said softly. "But give me time..." He lowered his head to Starsky's lap again.

"But it ain't fair," Starsky choked out. "You can't -- "

Hutch raised his head with a sigh. "Listen, I can't walk very well right now, I'm no whiz at doing anything below the waist right now. But you're all right." He touched Starsky's face gently. "I love you, Starsk, I know that now. And I owe you. And as soon as I'm better, babe, you can do anything you damn well please to me. But right now -- well, just pretend it's Christmas and this is your gift. You've already given me mine." He took his eyes from Starsky's face for a moment and looked lovingly around the car's dark interior.

Starsky shook his head, dazed. He'd have bought Hutch a pile of junk years ago if he'd had any inkling what the result would be. Three piles of junk. A dozen.

He sighed and let his head fall back against the thinly padded armrest. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay, baby."

His last lucid thought before Hutch's sweet, hot mouth enveloped him was one of sincere thankfulness that Hutch hadn't had time yet to fill up the back seat of this one with random trash. Wagon wheels would have been even less comfortable than the gear stick.


End file.
